


burn me, bleed me, any way you need me

by kellycore



Category: Breaking Bad
Genre: Ableism, Gen, Ice Cream, M/M, Sexism, Slavery, Todd being a weird ass mofo, non-con, tw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-07
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2020-01-06 01:03:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18377765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kellycore/pseuds/kellycore
Summary: It’s Jesse’s fault.





	burn me, bleed me, any way you need me

**Author's Note:**

> trigger warning for mentioned non-con, abuse, slavery, and sexism. jesse also describes walt jr in an ableist way, but it’s not intentional ableism, it’s just him having a VERY limited vocabulary.
> 
> this fills the prompt “made a slave” in my bingo. :) happy reading and stay safe!

Todd is his best friend. Really. The bastard's crazy, yeah. But out of all of those Nazis, like, actual legitimate nazis who draw swastikas on everything and watch porn together, Todd is the best choice, and that’s really saying something; the kid is psychotic. There’s something off in him that makes his eyes blink the way a clock ticks; his voice is so stable and calculated that Jesse wonders if he’s ever been hugged. And when Uncle Jack- yes, all the guys have to call him that, not just Todd, who is the only person that is not incestually related to him- pushes Todd to the ground for putting lotion on his hands, Jesse figures the kid is starved for attention.

(That makes two of ‘em.)

Todd treats him like a pet. He brings him contraband: sunscreen and bug spray, girlie mags, gum, and on occasion, a blanket. Most importantly, he brings him ice cream. It’s Todd’s favourite food, and now, by default, Jesse’s. Todd takes time to savour his, moaning obnoxiously, and almost sexually: “God, Jess, this Rocky Road is delicious!” ‘Mmm, I fucking love Mint Chocolate Chip. Hell yeah.” He licks his lips and lets the melted bits dribble down his shirt when he pours what’s left in the bowl into his gaping mouth. Jesse eats quickly, like the starved prisoner he is, trying to absorb all the calories. 

Mr. White said something about that in Chem once. Not that he was paying attention, but Jesse remembers one of the basketball players asking if Mr. White was fat because he ate so quickly, and Mr. White replying, in this downtrodden, pitiful way, that all calories were equal. It was science. Science is supposed to be predictable. But, as Jesse’s learned, you can’t really trust anything. Not even yourself.

Sometimes, Todd climbs down into the cell, and asks Jesse to cuddle. It’s moments like this that reminds Jesse of what he is: a slave. He has no choice, if he says no, Todd will bring out the pocket knife that swings wantonly from his belt and stab it in the outline of his ribs, all the while making it seem like it’s Jesse’s fault that he’s here, laying in this pit, skinny and bony and sick, with scars and cuts and loose teeth; that it’s Jesse’s fault no one’s ever cared for him, not even Mr. White; that’s it’s Jesse’s fault that Hank the cop died, and his buddy, oh, and Mike, who actually took care of him, instead of Mr. White, who only pretended to, and didn’t even care about his kids, the gimp kid with cerebral whatever and the fucking baby, who were the whole reason for him taking advantage of Jesse in the first place. Mr. White, who was the one who wanted to work with Todd The Psychopath in the first place and sold out on Jesse.

“Sorry, Jess.” Todd would say, all sweet like the ice cream, still on his lips, and then he’d lift his head up and put it on Todd’s lap, his jeans already half down his pale legs, making the hair on them stand like the prickles on a cactus. “A man’s got needs, you know.”

It’s Jesse’s fault.


End file.
